


Angst War - Simmons has Nightmares

by PGT



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Nightmares, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 02:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: Simmons has Nightmares





	Angst War - Simmons has Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno how angsty these necessarily are but I'm writing again so I don't really care *peace sign

Sometimes Simmons had nightmares.  
They weren’t often, not nearly as often as Wash’s or Sarge. But there were times. Days he’d wake up, forgetting that Donut always came back, looking to his left to find what he would first register as a corpse. Days he’d wake up to Washington checking on him, and anticipate a gunshot, then silence.  
His nightmares were menial, he reasoned. Chorus was busy enough treating Chorusan soldiers for physical injuries and PTSD, too busy with the UNSC to deal with a few harmless nightmares.   
And then they weren’t harmless.  
He woke up to a hand on his arm, and not seconds had passed before he found himself atop a yowling Donut, his arm contorted behind his back and pinned by a cybernetic grasp.  
“You were calling my name I thought you were having a nightmare so I should wake you up!”  
The room was awake in a mattter of minutes. Sarge startled first, darting out of bed and practically throwing Simmons away from Donut. Lopez, ever alert and ever logical, left to return later with Washington. Grif woke too, and found himself helping Donut to his feet and examining his arm.  
No one came towards Simmons after Sarge threw him aside. He didn’t remember exactly, but it was possible Sarge had ordered them not to.  
His breath regulated, and his heart drifted down from his ears. Donut was holding his arm and crying, Grif rubbing his back. Washington was there, being briefed by Sarge. Simmons focused on breathing as Washington moved to see the damage, gently checking Donut’s arm. The interaction ended with a grimace and a light pat on the back.  
Washington made eye contact with Simmons.  
I hurt Donut. It’s going to be just like how we treated Wash. I’m disowned. They hate me.  
“Simmons?”  
Wash was a distance away from Simmons now, crouched to his level. “It’s okay, Simmons. You’re alright.”  
“Is Donut okay?” He felt his voice hitch and a knot grew in his throat. His eyes stung.  
“He’s had worse,” He smiled softly, sadly, “I’ve done worse.”  
Simmons was silent for a moment. What Wash said hadn’t particularly helped, but he hadn’t yelled.  
“Simmons!”  
He winced, and Wash was on his feet and facing Sarge in an instant, defensive.  
“You of all people should know that was a stupid thing to do, Sarge.”  
“Right, sorry blue.” He peered over Wash’s shoulder to the crumpled ball of human that was Simmons. “I didn’t hurt ya when I pulled ya off him, did I?”  
“N-no, Sir.”  
“Good man. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again, Donut ain't used to nightmares like ours, is all. Wasn’t your fault.”  
Sarge rose a hand, something that looked like he intended to clap Simmons on the shoulder before remembering their distance. His hand slacked, before shaping into a thumbs up. “You catch your breath.”


End file.
